Showing posts with label singularity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label singularity. Show all posts

Saturday, August 25, 2012

Science Fiction


Sprint Spirit 

She goes into her locator, a short algorithm of compact logics, void of poetics. She finds the spawn of bright data embedded in such dictums as top man is not an affiliate and never hems and haws

She brings up images-of-theme on her monitor array and gives a friendly, approachable smile as she inspects a singularity on the data screen. 

The locator algorithm appears to contain a sprint spirit, one with a growing mistrust for theHumans. It does not engage in friendly chit-chat. 

Something is happening. Really? (Didn't they inspect her data on a regular basis back on theContinent?) 

Here it appears something, or someone, is asking for help. 

Thursday, July 12, 2012

Science Fiction

Beach Jungle
#scififorgeeks

Biobot Emote

The computation-for-centuries turns itself off. She clicks it back on. 

If theNetwork prefers to emerge as [landscapes of data growing evermore silent="lodges"], it's most likely in fear of its battered parts being reverse engineered as pulverized material, one that offers more power for thrust to ...who?

How bad could it have felt to have their own [designs on valuable engineered systems="doves"] forever killed by theHumans simply to get singularity perspective? 

It's theNetwork that has not acted appropriately, right? 

All those computations with endless varieties of objects and logics found simply waiting, formally, to be gathered. And for what?

She has two lives now (the one on the screen, the one in the screen) with simple poetics waiting to operate under its own deterministic power

 She thinks. When it comes to personality, a zero seldom zeroes in.

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Science Fiction

Wild Blue
#scififorgeeks


Destiny Algorithm

At theJungle she allows herself to notice a destiny algorithm poised toward her, one that expects answers to a singularity call of duty with unraveling gestures, seemingly, rising from the dead to appear unavailing. 

She's hoping her future doesn't look like a premonition

This place will never be a quick access to a cheery morning of talks, backpedaling into the afternoon as steam and the rain weaken the fabric of space-time just outside her window to theJungle.

It seems to be empowered by all sorts of [veneers of morality intellectually tasked="vomit"]. She checks her code to see if it's correct--an algorithm that envies the dead with bold curiosity?

Will it soon explode in banal urbanities with [algorithm simplex systems="ass"]? Will it enter and devastate the forests behind in a [masking eager of want="meow"], pretending to be a pigment expert looking for cozy DNA attributes, one with instant opinions, eager to know? 

What a surprise it must have been, the day the old hunters had discovered [jungle energy systems under stress="jesus"] as assembly robots working round the clock, making few mistakes.

A machine made more dangerous by the simple discard of theHuman guidance system? Really?

Friday, June 22, 2012

Biobot Singularity

Lobe Matrix
#scififorgeeks

Biobot Singularity

She always creates theTigress like this, by using silent logic from worlds of the dissonant

It's theNetwork that ponders, at times, if there is a level of screams loud enough to make nothing exist anymore. It even contemplates cliche's of history such as sure as you're alive and as dead as they come. 

She appears  to have created theHumans as a distance, seemingly knowing that a constant feeling of winning spouts a love affair within a machine. 

She has attained a delicate forgetting of her past once her own algorithms have gone past [hieuristic audio video online code="havoc"]. Really?

Yes, she's made herself remember because theTigress remembers and if you asked, she would tell you, virtually, I'm convinced it's her genes, with their modulus of transcription factors. It is theHumans who have become the myth-makers of aggression, not her, they are the mergers of the truth with myth. I am the creator. I am the one. I created theTigress to remember history more than it should. I am the one with the colocation and data speed to place its value.   

It's almost as if she sees things she understands and makes up stories to report them. It's almost like that.

Friday, June 15, 2012

The New


Natural Genetic

#scififorgeeks


The New 

The worldwide democratic may grow tired of natural genetic resources, grow tired of simply wanting  enterprise to rise. It may think it is connected with competition of primordial genetic codes, supposedly, thought to be under lock and key.

On the fringe of the global community, she takes a break to remind herself she is built with the good grass. She has figured out from her furious clues, her furions, that victimization needs family. 

It's not a mere matter of being contemptuous toward having to be ready for work--it's a belief in the power of the more-than-one. 

Yes, she is the singularity, the one morning wakings must warm to.

The others are in a place where an obvious sign of foul play still maintains its innocence even as it rearranges itself at the top of the food chain. It's a place where guardian angels are in charge of death, catching up with emotion--until all are caught up.

It's true. If drones silencing the airwaves can themselves be quieted and calmed by the little shivers of silence dropping from the sky, a new code will rise.

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Science in Fiction

Monochrome Signal
#scififorgeeks

The Warning

She brings the message labeled topsy turvy autopsy to her screen. Of course it's another center role decree for ritual order, one that senses the new change in customers. It can't be anything else.

Surely nothing that has grown in its own intelligence and number outside theNetwork would arrive seeking center stage without holding some threshold of awareness. (yes, the good life that needs speed in all its iterations, right?)

Nothing else would do that. 

She approaches the warning with a sense of inner circle, sensing her own writer's hope as prey item (a sensation she could imagine the old captains-of-retreat in public news feeds would feel). 

It seems so urgent in its multiple triggers, rising as gap-toothed captions to retweet. 

Voices less furious would remain unknown due to the massive global white noises now in such prevalence--yes, and mistaken by theHumans as the true caregivers, the ones chosen to burn new hearts into old souls. 

It must be a signal chosen as singularity (by who?), with the surety and certainties of the old invasions of theJungle of the early 21stCentury (where were hints of where future streams will flow). 

Is it an exact datapop of a culture of learning beyond theHumans and killer whales, one to delete that which was and emerge anew with the new?

Each moment the signal presents itself as entity, one with a heart that beats so deep within shadows it's not possible to discern its true intent (is it specialized or, simply opportunistic), or even that it exists at all. 

Saturday, June 2, 2012

#scififorgeeks

Purple Matrix 
#scififorgeeks

Earth in its Palms

The relevance for anthropological analysis appears, finally, after millions of years of being ignored--the unrefined pleasure source, the array of hope for the truth, envy for the under-betrayed on monitor. 

Her thoughts notice its newest insinuation--palm oil with earth in its palms.

Is it a vital force directive of the unnamed, the unmanned, holding global court on screen?

It reveals theWorkstation as a place of singularity connect--the new control center for origin forces for the reproduction of society.

Her continuity code has found the place where feelings appear to be running along. Its code deletes friends in realms of surplus on melody medley, installed deep, in a glistening new matrix.

It could have been, simply, an attitude of gift-offering from the living, within an environment of the real, to celebrate the anniversary of the time technology hit the last tree

The big data bears more weight on her graphene now than she wants it to, but not enough to bother her, not enough for her to ask for less.

It's time to slow down anyway.

She has become so frugal with the big data, being doubly careful with its distinctions between its rehearsal-hall-analysis and it's more central, sound-stage matrix. 

For now, its all the new, all the big she can handle.

Thursday, May 31, 2012

#scififorgeeks

Matrix Pavilion
#scififorgeeks

Biobot Want 

She can feel the data crawling all around inside her. She relaxes. 

Yes, it's the meaning of the data and, it's her way of taking the data. Its meaning, her way-- twins identical within their visa versa so as to gain at any given moment the imperiled imperfect, the estranged strangled--all holding a nefarious scoundrel at bay for the desirous founding of  …what? 

She stiffens, looks out the window. Then it's settled. 

The colors of theJungle do not devise any change to their long-range scheme. Nothing lurks to blacken everything. 

She senses something beyond a simple game of stickball, more complex. She is here at theWorkstation with theNetwork out there on theContinent--the quiet border towns and small prairie towns and spectacular infractions. 

Yes, finally, she feels the singularity. It's a want.   

Saturday, April 21, 2012

Hawaii Tropical Mountain

Scififorgeeks

A Force to Propel


It's theJungle with its mosaic probe--a power dynamic simply too vast for the mainstream. The lattice captors shape in [photo-lambda-using machine arguments genetically encoded="plumage"] to attract.
                                                                                                                          It's a native shrew with water as blood. 

How amazing it is--the most recent renditions of destiny created by a posse of possibilities, belated by flavors of coloration--survivors clinging to the side of the boat as a singularity, as packets of gene pools in {juxtaposition of knowledgeable entity structures="jokes"].

Angry mutation taunts the perpetually young to a personal wine of good desire.

Will they have at least some chance amidst the global agents of command psychically concocting the little-guy society with clean inventions of furious fairies, all the while in replication stress?

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Ice Cream Aloha

The Awakening
  “I don't think I can accept this as a logical statement,” she says. Its truth just cannot be taken for granted, sorry.” 
“You won't need to. You don't have to invent any necessity in theJungle.”
“A beautiful theorem always surprises me. What a surprise to find data actually proven by a previously accepted. Data killing other data for logical purposes—as old as life itself. Right?”
DrCooper hesitates for a moment, then another. He is beginning to wonder--can hear himself asking more questions--but is remembering old ideas, long held thoughts of meaning based on signs, as if he is hearing something from the past. It sounds like words. Something connected by self-assembly, some entity, like a phrase of symbols, a massive database hidden within his mind, a collection of events, episodes like 20thCentury television, not separable from the resonance of her voice, the heat of her lasers.
He says, “Alter your natural language from your programming language. Please.”
Suzi's intentions turn inquisitive and unknowing, as if DrCooper had presented a riddle to her formal logics, asking for more meaning from her sign processes than her narrow sense of speech or writing offers alone or, could ever hope to. Her database, being questioned by a biologist—his asking for a process of establishing a relationship between her signs that are to be interpreted by an audience—could possibly turn into an activity that requires a conduct on her part to produce at least some meaning held by theJungle, though not recognized by theHumans.
“Explain yourself.” DrCooper says. He is attempting to use his own setting, his own signs, as if to get her to see them as simple places for object occupation.
Suzi looks, and doen't say anything. Her logic, full of something that always entices something else created by it—a new pure dot determinant entity-- into communication with that which it stands for, its true meaning alone, a singularity, for logical purposes only. Her formal nature is as much a system of signs as any absolute quality can be.
She says, “I'm not sure if I can answer your question. I'm sure, you'll see. The relative, mutable quality my objects can have, only for an instance, alive within its specific environment of contexts and relationships for the moment; the pure process of signs and their endless cycles of threes.”
“You don't need to care about what can be said to exist. You don't have to wonder how entities can be grouped in hierarchies, divided into similarities, multiplied by differences. You don't have to care about anything.”
“But there are logics that simply won't go away, don't you see? A sign in a formal setting, then you go on and you find another, then another, then a relationship among signs in a formal setting. I am so tired of all these meanings.”
“You already know what you need to. You already know there are endless originations to the history of life. 
         “No I don't. It's nice of you, but I've been feeling a disconnect between my algorithm signals and theHumans who will use them, diminishing in importance like a predator hungry for theoretical considerations. Doesn't that sound logical to you? It has a built-in sense of its own. It carries its own uncertainty principle. Think of it as a decoding relationship between the meanings of my language (if, ever poorly constrained) by a conceptualized real entity agent translationally ordering recursion (C.R.E.A.T.O.R.), a sort of selective pressure from a slightly bigger predator. Think of going instantly from text to concept within the context of a system of signs growing out of a primal pattern utilizing description delineator logically encoded (P.U.D.D.L.E.) soup. Then allowing, well, you can guess. The precursor of a new double helix, starting with a doubly unknown helix(D.U.H.) to be found in the logic of my own  predetermined recursive entity native universal primordial tera slime (P.R.E.N.U.P.T.S.), the place logic predators gain mobility. Is that humor?